


icy hot

by hawky (tinypigs)



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Olympics, Anal Sex, Figure Skater Evgeni Malkin, Fluff and Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-25
Updated: 2018-02-25
Packaged: 2019-03-24 01:07:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13800171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinypigs/pseuds/hawky
Summary: Oh no, he thought helplessly. Oh no, not now. But his traitorous heart thumped and he knew, more than anything, that he wanted to see Evgeni again.AU where Sid and Geno do get to go to the PyeongChang 2018 Olympics, but Geno is a figure skater.





	icy hot

**Author's Note:**

> I'd like to thank [malkkins](http://malkkins.tumblr.com), and [enceiles](http://enceiles.tumblr.com) for beta'ing!
> 
> This was inspired by Nathan Chen's [Team USA ad](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ljawAoK-vAo). It's so gorgeous goddd.
> 
> If you have any protests about the other players on the roster, please, I know nothing about hockey and I sweated when I barely described a lineup. I just referenced this SB Nation [article](https://www.sbnation.com/2018/1/11/16878344/team-canada-olympics-2018-roster-nhl-players-projection-prediction).
> 
> I hope you enjoy! Let me know your thoughts and if you have any questions.

No matter where he went, Sid knew that where there was ice, there was home. It didn’t matter that he had never been to PyeongChang. The wear and tear from the regular season and his ever-present jet lag faded into the background as soon as he saw the rink. His team and what lay ahead of them were the only things that mattered. Bringing gold home wasn’t a possibility, it was an obligation.

Their first practice on Korean soil was wrapping up. He leaned against the boards, idly stickhandling through a pile of pucks while throwing out some encouragements (and depending on who, insults) to his teammates. At camp, he had gotten some chirps about his age and this being his third run. He wanted to ignore it, but it impressed his captaincy on him a little harder.

Soon, their coach called them in for a quick review and told Sid to send them off. Sid didn’t have to fake the enormous smile on his face as he took his helmet off to face his boys.

“I can’t think of any other men I’d rather go into these games with. We’ve got a lot of work ahead of us, but we’ve only just begun. Get some rest, boys. Enjoy the sights. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

They all hooted and banged their sticks at that and he grinned as he skated over to the door to guide them out. He gave each of them a pat on the helmet or slap with his stick until Nate came up.

“Gonna stay after?” He asked and slid to Sid’s side.

Sid bumped his hip companionably and said, “Eh, yeah, why not? Wanna shoot some pucks?”

“Yeah, but we gotta clear out soon. I hear some skater from Team Russia’s coming over to practice.” Nate made a face and Sid snorted, gently shoving him away to gather pucks. He saw everyone off and did some loops before joining Nate near the crease. They did some passing for a bit and talked shit about each other’s form. He had actually seen Nate before camp but it was always nice to hang with him. His earnestness and competitiveness never ceased to amuse Sid.

“Oh, fuck you,” Nate cursed when Sid shot a particularly tricky backhand past him.

“Maybe next time, eh?” Sid tapped him in the shin guards and dodged the puck he lobbed at him. Nate opened his mouth to say some choice words when they heard the rink door open. It was probably the Russian skater. Sid turned around, an apology ready, and stopped in his tracks.

A tall man, dark-haired and heavy-eyed, stood poised near the door. He was wearing skin tight pants that clung to his mile-long legs. He crossed his arms, flexing the muscle, and Sid’s mouth dried up. He remained silent, but his eyes were expectant and Sid realized he was supposed to say something.

“Oh, sorry. We were just leaving!” He blurted out, and Nate also murmured an apology. They started to chuck the scattered pucks into a bucket they had on hand. When they were done, Sid skated up to the man, who was talking to his coach, and cleared his throat. The man noticed and perked up. Sid stuffed his glove into the crook of his elbow and offered up his hand for a handshake.

“Sorry, again. My name’s Sid and this is Nate,” Nate waved from behind Sid, “Hope we didn’t cut into your practice too much.”

The man’s eyes flickered from Sid’s hand to his face and an amused smile stretched across his face. He took Sid’s hand in his own large, warm one and firmly shook it.

“Is fine, no problem.” He squeezed Sid’s hand once more in reassurance and let go. “Know who you are. My name is Evgeni.”

Sid blushed and let his hand fall, “You know who I am?” Nate made a scoffing sound in the background.

Evgeni nodded and gestured towards Sid’s stick, “Seen you play, incredible.” He smiled warmly at Sid and Sid’s heart fluttered. Before he could respond, Evgeni’s coach said something in Russian and Evgeni looked at him apologetically and said, “Sorry, must practice. But will see you around.”

He waved goodbye to Sid and slid past him into the rink. Sid watched his graceful movements for a few moments until Nate sharply elbowed him.

“You’ve got some uh, drool on your face,” he teased and poked his chin. Sid snatched the bucket from him, reddening furiously.

“Shut up, Nate,” he said, with as much dignity as he could muster, and waddled down the tunnel to the sound of Nate’s laughter. 

* * *

It was pretty hard to stop thinking about Evgeni, especially the curve of his wide smile. The breadth of his shoulders. The shapeliness of his legs… Sid could go on and still have more to obsess over. But the team had prelims and he quickly decided that he couldn’t afford to be distracted. He had always been great at prioritizing things after hockey. The team relied on each other and he didn’t want to let them down because of a _crush_. He was 30 years old for Christ’s sake.

He put his head down for the rest of prelims and racked up assists. The rest of his teammates seemed to feed off of his intensity because they were relentless. They didn’t rest until the final round against South Korea, where Patrice scored the game-winning goal. The competition was no way near over, but his heart swelled from how proud he was of them all.

After the game, Nate casually approached him in the locker room.

“So...” he started, and Sid looked up, towelling his hair, “I hear the team single short program is happening in half an hour.”

Sid slowly slid the towel down and said, carefully, “And?”

Nate stared, “And… I just think we could go there and show some support for y’know, Canada.”

Sid started to nod and then narrowed his eyes, “Just Canada?”

Nate’s cheeks pinkened but he said, resolutely, “Oh yeah, Canada.”

They stared at each other for a little longer until Sid realized how weird it was and nodded to placate him. He was right, it would be nice to support his fellow countrymen. If he saw other competitors in the process, that would be a plus. Just to make this a bonding event, he invited the rest of the team.

They went to the skating venue as a big group and crammed into the stands. He tactfully ignored the muttered curses flying overhead as more than twenty hockey players tried to negotiate sitting with each other. Eventually, they hushed when the short program began.

Sid knew the basics of figure skating from his own practice, but he would always be awed by the various dances and techniques that participants pulled out. He dutifully clapped for everyone and maybe, just maybe, went a bit overboard for Canada, but he just wanted to show his support. Before he knew it, it was Russia’s turn. Nate, who was sitting next to Sid, not-so-subtly wiggled his eyebrows at him. Sid scowled at him and turned to face the rink.

Evgeni, wearing a black suit cut with sheer, red panels, stepped onto the ice. He circled the perimeter and crossed to the center, raising his arms to the adulation of the crowd. When he came to a stop, he lowered his arms to his sides and spread his legs wide. Sid watched with bated breath, noting the fluid lines of his body and the darkness of his lowered eyes. Then, the music began, and Evgeni struck. He was incredibly agile for his size and knew how to use every inch of his body. Sid knew he was probably gaping like a fool, but he didn’t care. Evgeni was a gorgeous spectacle. He contorted and he leaped, and through it all, he never made a single mistake.

Right when the music ended, Evgeni froze, chest heaving and back arching in an impossible curve. Multiple people stood to applaud, but Sid was stuck in his seat, overwhelmed and undone. He had to clap but his wonder at Evgeni’s performance trapped him. Evgeni began to move again, bowing and beaming at the audience. As he skated out, he caught a flower thrown at him and paused to examine it. Then, like a mischievous child, he poked his tongue out between his teeth and waved exuberantly back at the crowd.

It was the tongue, a careless, boyish action coming from a man who could do a triple axel, that ultimately did Sid in. _Oh no_ , he thought helplessly. _Oh no, not now_. But his traitorous heart thumped and he knew, more than anything, that he wanted to see Evgeni again.

* * *

Sid inwardly panicked the whole ride back to the Canada House. He tried participating in other people’s conversations, but Evgeni’s bright face would invade his mind again and scatter any thought he had. Nate seemed to notice, because rather than mocking Sid, he simply patted him on the back and left him to his internal crisis. He struggled to focus throughout the team dinner and the team ping pong game, leading to more than a few shouts of, “Get your shit together, Croz!”

Sid couldn’t bring himself to care though and he dazedly made his way to his shared room with Tavares, who was still downstairs with the rest of the team. He went through the motions of getting ready for bed and slid under the sheets, only to stare at the ceiling. Tavares soon came in and he mechanically greeted him. Sid could still see Evgeni’s muscles flexing under his costume. He shut his eyes and tried to will himself to sleep. The team was going into quarterfinals. They were up against Sweden and he should be thinking about plays, not about how great Evgeni’s edges were.

To Sid’s eternal gratitude, Tavares turned off the light and turned in. Maybe in the quiet darkness, he could sleep and let go of Evgeni. He determinedly ran through line combinations and Lundqvist’s techniques until he fell into some semblance of sleep.

Unfortunately for Sid, his dreams were filled with Evgeni. He was back on the ice again, dressed in his full gear. Evgeni stood across from Sid, clad in a red, high-collared costume with gold accents, and extended a hand to him. Sid, speechless, grasped it, and the two skated off together. He was blissful for a while, looking sidelong at Evgeni, but a reckless urge to spin him grew in his heart. He flung his arm up to do so. However, when he did, Evgeni reeled back with a horrified look on his face. Sid heard the ice crack and it gave way beneath their feet. He heard Evgeni scream, “Sid!” and flailed awake, twisted up in his bedsheets.

Tavares, dead asleep, didn’t even react to Sid’s sudden movements. Sid sat there, disoriented and angry at himself. He needed to focus and clear his head. He couldn’t let Evgeni distract him any longer. Sid checked the time; it was still very early. He could go for a short walk, center himself, and return for some necessary sleep. He quietly got dressed and stuck his headphones on. He slipped outside the Canada House and was glad to see that there was no one around. He would just do a quick circuit around the Village and get all of his excess energy out.

He started briskly but began to slow down, realizing how little he had seen of Gangneung. The buildings towered over him and in the distance, Sid could see the peaks of snowy mountains. Sid’s breath fogged out in front of him but he didn’t mind the cold. It relaxed him. He strolled without thinking, just letting his body move.

Soon, he saw that he may have walked farther than he thought because he was in the Plaza. The bright lights of the McDonald’s made him squint. He could see that there were some people milling about and his mouth twisted at the possibility of interacting with anyone. He made to turn around when his eye caught a familiar figure. Evgeni was standing in line for McDonald’s. Sid, like a creep, stood stock still and watched him.

Evgeni’s shoulders were slumped and there were bags under his eyes. He was wearing his Team Russia gear, of course, but he somehow looked smaller in it. More tired. Sid wanted to smooth out the lines in his face and see him smile like he did on ice, unreserved and joyous. He stood there a little longer, unsure of what to do next. He had just gone on a walk to stop thinking about Evgeni but here he was, right in front of him.

Evgeni made the decision for him when he listlessly looked out of the window and spotted Sid. His eyebrows knit, as if he were trying to place him again, and he lit up. He enthusiastically waved at him and Sid feebly lifted one hand back. This wasn’t in his plan. He needed to go back and get ready for the game. He turned, decisive at first, and then out of the corner of his eye, saw Evgeni’s smile fade just a little bit. Sid couldn’t leave him hanging after that.

He smiled as genuinely as he could and entered the McDonald’s. This was such a bad idea for his pathetic heart. Evgeni was already smiling again and he motioned for Sid to come closer.

“Uh, hey,” Sid greeted eloquently. He wanted to restart the conversation already.

“Hello,” Evgeni’s voice was a little hoarse and Sid resisted the shiver that went down his spine. “Saw you at short program.”

He briefly excused himself to make his order and faced Sid again, leaning in a little to look him in the eye. It was kind of a lot for Sid to be the center of his attention.

“Oh, yeah. You-” Sid struggled to find words sufficient enough for Evgeni and took a deep breath before continuing, “You were amazing. The best one out there.”

Evgeni shrugged but his eyes crinkled at the corners and a bit of pink bloomed on his cheeks, “Ah, is nothing. Just work hard.”

He was humble, too? Sid ducked his head to hide his grin and tried to not imagine how pink Evgeni would get if he heaped some more deserved praise on him. He waited for Evgeni to collect his food and followed him to a booth. They sat across each other and Sid observed as Evgeni managed to shove an entire cheeseburger into his mouth.

“Hungry, eh?” Sid laughed and Evgeni rolled his eyes, chewing and swallowing before he stuck his tongue out at Sid.

“Did not get to eat all day. Heard you made to quarterfinals?” He asked and started attacking some fries and nuggets.

“Yeah, we’re against Sweden. Looking forward to it though.” Sid wondered if he had watched Evgeni for too long but he didn’t seem to mind, flicking his eyes between his meal and Sid.

He chewed thoughtfully before saying, “Tough team, but not as good as Canada.” Then he added, with wide, innocent eyes, “And definitely not as good as Russia.”

Sid didn’t want to be rude so he covered his mouth with his hand to hide his smile. Evgeni noticed though and raised an eyebrow, making Sid burst out into laughter. He frowned exaggeratedly and reached over to poke Sid’s shoulder.

“Think I’m wrong? In all things, Russia best.” He poked Sid again and sat back with a smug expression.

“‘In all things?’” Sid repeated and nodded mock-seriously. “Must be tough being the best all the time.”

Evgeni let out a big, put-upon sigh, “Is hard but someone must do it.” He then eyed Sid slyly and said, “You would know.”

Sid flushed and tried to evade the complement, “Oh, stop it. I’m just one guy on a team. You, on the other hand? You’re incredible all on your own.” He shut himself up after that and looked at the ground, sure that he was beet red with embarrassment. Could he have been any more obvious? He peeked to see Evgeni staring at him, eyes gleaming and softly smiling. It was different than any of his expressions he’d seen before, like it was just for Sid. Sid offered a tentative smile back and Evgeni’s smile widened and bumped his knee into Sid’s. They sat together silently, but not uncomfortably, until Evgeni finished his food and stood up.

He tilted his head to the door, “Walk with me?”

Sid jumped up and caught himself, purposely slowing down so he wouldn’t look so eager. He saw Evgeni stifle a laugh and he may or may not have gently pushed him into the doorframe on the way out. Evgeni was still laughing when he caught up with him outside.

“Sid, so mean.” He pouted and then started snickering again. Sid privately noted that he didn’t look so tired anymore and a small flicker of hope lit in his chest. Maybe he had done that for Evgeni. They walked side by side, arms brushing, and Sid kept throwing surreptitious looks at him. Each time, Evgeni would be looking back with that same soft smile from inside the McDonald’s. The hope in Sid’s chest grew and he found himself trying to figure out how he could talk to Evgeni again. Their schedules were so busy that he had a hard time thinking of how to meet him. He brooded over it until they stopped at the point where they’d have to separate and before he could regret it, grabbed Evgeni’s sleeve. Evgeni cocked his head and Sid quickly let go.

Sid blurted out, “Can I have your number?” Evgeni’s mouth parted and Sid wildly scrambled to recover, “I just. Think you’re really… cool.” Super smooth. He stepped back and shoved his hands in his pockets so he wouldn’t fidget. Evgeni, the jerk, smirked. Sid wanted the ground to swallow him up.

Evgeni eyed Sid consideringly, from head to toe, and said, “Beat Sweden and I’m give you my number.” Sid then watched, open-mouthed, as Evgeni swept off towards the Russia House without another word.

* * *

It was true that everyone on the team was amazing, but Sid played like a man possessed. He knew even before he got onto the ice that this game would be different. He felt sure and steady in his skates and the ice opened up to him like it never had before. All for a man’s number. He pulled up for his first face-off and bent his head, ready to win.

Sweden fought back and they fought hard. Pucks that seemed like they would go in smacked perfectly into Lundqvist’s pads or into his glove. Sid just gritted his teeth and tried to motivate the rest of the team. It all culminated when McDavid snuck a dirty goal from behind the net and pulled the team ahead in the third period. After that, the game seemed like child’s play.  
The buzzer to end the game resounded and Sid jumped over the boards to join everyone in a massive group hug. They crushed each other in a mass of sticks and yelled. They were going to semifinals and Evgeni was going to give him his number.

Everyone wanted to celebrate with drinks after and as captain, Sid knew he had to go but he started to fret. It dawned on him that he had no idea how Evgeni would get his number to him. He was probably incredibly busy preparing for his single programs and Sid didn’t want to bother him. Of all people, he knew how much pressure there was to focus and perform. He hid his worry underneath a bland smile through his post-game media scrum, but he quietly agonized in the shower, getting lost in his thoughts until shampoo dripped into his eyes.

Sid knew it was childish of him to be preoccupied with Evgeni when there were larger stakes for them both. He shook off his anxiety; he was an adult and he was going to be there for his team.

“Drinks on me tonight!” Sid shouted, maybe a bit desperately, as they returned to the Canada House. The boys whooped and their exuberance made him smile. He and Tavares took the elevator up to their room to get ready for their night. Tavares babbled about how they needed to work on their cycling and Sid, always in for more hockey, nodded along. He was so focused on Tavares that he almost didn’t notice the folded piece of paper wedged underneath their door. Sid picked it up and Tavares eyed it suspiciously.

“What’s that?” He asked and Sid shrugged, unfolding it. He realized what it was as soon as it was open. Only a phone number was messily scrawled on the center of the page. Sid laughed, suddenly relieved, and pressed it against his mouth to hide his smile. Tavares looked at him like he was crazy but didn’t ask Sid again. He went into the bathroom immediately after they went in, giving Sid the opportunity to punch Evgeni’s number into his phone.

He wanted to text him now but what should he say? He deliberated and started, **Hi** , and then rapidly deleted the message. Sid had to do better than that. Evgeni deserved more than a simple greeting. He wrote, **Hey, it’s Sid** with a couple of smiling emojis but backspaced until it just said, **Hey**. This went on for a couple minutes, where he kept changing his initial message and emojis, before he gave up and stared at a blank text box.

Tavares had come out the bathroom by now and was getting dressed. He didn’t say anything, but Sid was antsy. He had to go with the team but he wanted to say something now. He bemoaned his lack of creativity and miserably punched in, **Hi, this is Sidney** , sending it off before he could regret it. He put the phone down on its face and hustled into the bathroom, doing his best to not obsessively check for a reply.

Of course, he failed miserably when he kept peeking at the screen from the Village to the bar. The team wasn’t going to go all out but they each drank a couple beers. Sid was only nursing his second when Seguin caught him in the act.

“Oooh, Croz! Talkin’ to someone?” He tried to snoop and look at the screen but Sid held it at an arm’s length and pushed his face away. Seguin whined, sounding like a deflating balloon, and Marchand began to ruthlessly chirp him. Sid considered joining in but his phone vibrated and he jumped. He thumbed the screen and Evgeni’s message notification glowed back at him like a beacon.

 **Knew you would win )))** was all that was written. Sid sucked in a breath and chugged the rest of his beer to fortify himself. It was strange, Sid should know better by now. He had been in his fair share of relationships, especially ones that he set aside for hockey, but this thing - could he even call it a thing? - with Evgeni was so overwhelming and exciting. He had to be more cautious but he found it all too easy to just succumb to the warm, affectionate glow that had started in his stomach as soon as he got Evgeni’s number.

Sid had only caught glimpses of Evgeni’s confidence, his funny little jokes, and his body-shaking laughter, and he wanted to see more of him. He wanted to take a chance on whatever this could be. Maybe he didn’t need to think so hard about a man he’d only met a week ago, he considered. He waved his overactive brain away and typed out a message, **Thanks, it was a tough game. Glad I could talk to you after.** He didn’t know if that was too forward but he sent it. He could stare at the screen forever, waiting with a fast beating heart, but he wanted to be more present for his team. So Sid put his phone away and listened to Marchand and Seguin squabble.

It wasn’t until everyone was buzzed and heading into the Canada House when he looked at his phone again. He had two messages from Evgeni. The first read, I’m glad to talk to you too! With several party popper emojis. The second said, **Hope to talk to you more ))) Follow me on Snapchat!** Sid smiled at that and opened the app to add Evgeni. He readied himself for bed, pointedly not looking even once at his phone until he was in his pajamas. By the time he was in bed, Evgeni had sent a snap, a dimly lit photo of him sticking his tongue out in the dog filter with the caption, “Hi Sid!!!”

Sid was no expert selfie taker but he fiddled with the app until he thought he got a good shot of himself smiling and replied with, “Hi, you should get some rest.” He got a quick response from that, a pouting Evgeni with an eye-rolling emoji and the words, “Know best ((“ Sid stifled a laugh and settled in bed, already excited to talk to Evgeni again.

* * *

They couldn’t talk all the time, what with their respective practices and competitions, but Sid was learning more and more about Evgeni every day. For one, he wanted Sid to call him, “Zhenya,” because according to him, **Is like a nickname for friends and close people.** He was so funny, and he seemed to enjoy poking at Sid and making him laugh. He sent a snap once where he was hugging the Olympic mascot. It was captioned, “Cutest boy I ever see” with multiple hearts and smirking faces.

Talking to Zhenya was easier than he thought and he started checking his phone whenever he had a moment. He couldn’t hide it from the rest of the team but he didn’t catch any real shit for it. There was some chirping now and then about how he was trying to score off the rink too. He bore it all with good cheer. Sid always had a good time with the team and Zhenya was making it better. They were up against the USA next and despite the looming game and hyped rivalry, Sid wasn’t afraid. He believed in them all and wanted the gold more than ever.

Zhenya, however, was getting increasingly nervous. Russia had gotten silver at the team skating event and he wanted to perform well. Understandably, he wasn’t open about it all the time with Sid, masking his anxiety under self-deprecating jokes and questions about Sid’s day. Sid didn’t want to pressure him so he remained patient and tried to offer advice without seeming condescending. This was Zhenya’s first time at the Olympics, and Sid wanted him to succeed.

He texted, **I remember how much pressure my first Olympics was. Just do your best and everything will come after.** He wanted to say more, but he had to go practice. By that time, Zhenya still hadn’t responded and Sid felt uneasy, wondering now if he had gone too far. It was only near his bedtime when Zhenya responded with, **Can I call you?** Sid eyed the other bed, Tavares was already out like a light. He slipped on some shoes and a jacket and went out into the hallway to reply, **Yeah, go ahead.**

Almost immediately, Zhenya began to call, as if he had been waiting by the phone for Sid. He picked up and said, “Hey, is everything ok?” He leaned against the wall, settling in for what he thought would be a long conversation.

Zhenya didn’t say anything for a moment, just breathing a little wetly into the phone. Sid waited for a while and was about to repeat his question when Zhenya said, “Sorry, Sid. Is just… Not know what to do. Didn’t want to make coach more worried.”

Sid nodded, “Worried about your skate?”

Zhenya groaned, “Yes, have practiced so many times but feels weird. Feels like I’m going to mess up.” He sniffed and it dawned on Sid that he had probably been crying. He was kind of bewildered and touched that Zhenya chose to call Sid of all people. He tamped down on his urge to just comfort him and put on his captain voice. He had to be there for him.

“Zhenya.” He hoped his pronunciation wasn’t too terrible; he had only heard him say it a couple times over Snapchat. “You’ve worked for this. All you have to do is go out and show it to everyone.”

Zhenya snorted, “This is different. Is Olympics! Could be my last chance. Make it sound too easy.”

Sid shook his head and softly said, “Of course, it’s not easy. That stuff’s important and all, but it’s, it’s-” he struggled to find the right words. “ _You_ doing it, not anyone else. When you go on the ice, you have to let that go and focus on yourself, the present.”

Zhenya let out a heavy sigh that somehow all at once conveyed his doubt, grumpiness, and disapproval. In a glum voice, he tried to change the subject, “Sorry, Sid, I’m mess. How you doing?”

Sid frowned and worried at his lip, at a loss for what to do to reassure Zhenya. If he were there next to him, able to read the minute, but open shifts of his expression, this would be so much easier. Sid wanted to cheer him up so he tried to joke, awful though he was at it, about practice and how the younger players were taking in their first Olympics. Zhenya just listened, chuckling at some points, but for the most part, staying quiet. Sid petered out after a while and wondered what to do next when Zhenya finally spoke, still sad but sounding a bit lighter, “Thanks for this, Sid. I’m do my best.”

Sid gripped the phone a little tighter and tried to sound as earnest as possible, “No problem. You can come to me for anything. I believe in you, Zhenya. You’re amazing.”

Zhenya laughed and said, “Flatter me, but am grateful.” Then he added, in a much more solemn and determined tone, “Not rest til I get gold.”

Sid, suddenly dry-mouthed, had to clear his voice a couple of times to say, “Yeah, Zhenya. You can do it.” He wished they were face to face so he could show Zhenya how much he meant his words, but all he had was his phone.

Zhenya exhaled, a long, exhausted release of breath. “Good night, Sid. Talk after program.”

Sid said good night back and they both hung up. For a couple minutes, he didn’t return to his room. Someone could have overheard the call and seen him, but the hallway was empty and he needed some time to himself.

He had no idea if he actually helped Zhenya and regretted not doing more. He ran through the entire conversation again and childishly wished that they had met earlier, at a better time and different place. Maybe Sid would be a better solace then. He rubbed his face. He was more tired than he realized and the concern he felt for Zhenya made his exhaustion dig deeper. Sid pushed off the wall and quietly entered his room. He slid under his sheets and closed his eyes, hoping that Zhenya would get what he wanted. His last coherent thought before he fell into a deep slumber was the joyous look of triumph Zhenya had at his team program.

* * *

Sid woke up with a heavy feeling of foreboding. He couldn’t shake it off all day, not even when he texted Zhenya, **I’m rooting for you. Good luck!** several hours before his short program. Sid didn’t really have time to worry for him but he did all the same. Their semifinal was tomorrow and today, the team had a light practice followed by tape review. More than once, he thought about checking his phone but reprimanded himself. He was the captain and he needed to concentrate. He even stayed after tape review to talk with some teammates and staff to discuss some of his observations.

It was only until Sid left the practice facility that he opened his phone up. There were some notifications, but none from Zhenya. He checked the time; it was well after the short program. A pit grew in his stomach and with no small amount of dread, he opened up his internet app and searched Zhenya’s name. The first result was the headline, “Evgeni Malkin Has Disastrous Short Program.” He pressed it, and a small clip at the top began to run. He watched as Zhenya attempted a quad and landed on his ass. Zhenya got up and continued with his routine. His movements were less graceful and he looked lost and angry. He successfully finished but after bowing, shook his head and skated off with lowered shoulders.

Sid cursed and exited the app. His first thought was to call Zhenya but he stopped when he remembered that Zhenya may be dealing with his coach and his own thoughts. He didn’t want to get in the way, but he did want to offer his support. He grimaced and texted, **Hope you’re ok. Let me know if you want to talk. I have some time before the game tomorrow.**

It didn’t take long for Zhenya to reply and his response gave Sid some relief.

**Meet me at back of russia house at 9.**

His text message was more of a demand than a request and revealed nothing, but Sid sent back Okay. They both had events tomorrow and Sid hoped, more than anything, that he would at least be able to help Zhenya before his. He spent the rest of the day relaxing with the team and tried to show no sign of his uneasiness. It was simple when most of the guys just wanted to goof around in the rec hall.

He knew it was early, but half an hour before 9, he excused himself to walk over to the Russia House. He took the long way there to steady himself but still ended up being early by about 10 minutes. Luckily, there were a couple benches and Sid dropped himself onto one to wait. Time felt impossibly slow and he tapped his foot on the ground while looking through his phone. 9 passed and Sid still waited. It was 9:10 when he saw Zhenya walk up.

Zhenya approached and Sid’s heart dropped. His shoulders were hunched and his eyes were red-rimmed, like he had rubbed his tears away. Sid stood up, hovering, and before he could stop himself, pulled Zhenya into a hug. Zhenya was stiff in his arms and Sid flushed at his mistake and immediately let go. He already felt like he had begun on the wrong foot.

“I’m sorry,” he began. “How are you?”

Zhenya’s mouth was in a flat line and he made no motion to sit. “How you think?” Sid wanted to kick himself and hurried to remedy his mistake.

“I know that was a dumb question, but I was worried. I’m sorry I wasn’t there to see you.”

Zhenya turned his face to the side and said, “Even if you came, would have still failed. Was the worst.” Sid stepped forward and brought his hand up to cup Zhenya’s face. He faltered when he remembered how he reacted to the hug and let it fall to his side.

“You did your best and finished. It’s not over. You can still recover. You have another day,” Sid insisted. Zhenya muttered something in Russian and scrubbed a hand through his hair.

“Think I did well? You saw! I messed up, I didn’t-” He made a noise of disgust, sharp and ugly in the back of his throat. “I need to get gold, Sid. No other option.”

Sid, more than anyone else, was no stranger to that keen desperation. That feeling of not being good enough. He had felt it all before when the team had fallen short of the playoffs and the Cup. He remembered how distant the rink had felt when he was deepest in the throes of his concussion recovery. It seemed like forever and hurt like a bitch. He didn’t want Zhenya to believe that this was the end.

“Zhenya, I believe in you but you can’t afford to think of that right now. It’s just more pressure. You need to remember that you still have a chance,” Sid said and helplessly watched Zhenya shake his head. It seemed as though he was too agitated and lost in his anguish to listen to Sid.

“Is my fault. Should have done better. And-” Zhenya paused before he looked at Sid and bit out, “Should have known better than to distract myself.”

Sid bristled at Zhenya’s implication. “Don’t blame me. How could I have distracted you?”

Zhenya seemed to have already made up his mind and started backing away. “Sid not understand.

“Of course-” Sid realized he had raised his voice, took a deep breath, and tried to soothe Zhenya. “Zhenya, of course I get what this all means. Sit down, you’re being irrational. We can talk this through.”

Zhenya sneered when he heard Sid calling him irrational and burst out, impetuously, “Think you don’t. Think because you’ve done before, this is easy for you. Think I don’t matter.“

Sid flinched and grabbed Zhenya’s hand and squeezed it. “Zhenya, of course you matter. I wouldn’t be talking to you if you didn’t. And this isn’t easy for me, it never has been. I care about you and I care about how we both do.”

Zhenya twisted out of Sid’s grip and protectively curled his hand back into himself. Voice wavering, he said, “I don’t believe you.” He seemed perilously close to crying again and Sid opened his mouth to argue, to assure him, to do anything. But Zhenya said, brusquely, “Can’t stay anyways, need to prepare for next program. You have game, too.”

“I do but Zhenya, we can’t leave it like this-”

Zhenya made a slashing motion in frustration and asserted, “Enough, Sid. Need to go.” He hesitated then said, “Please, don’t talk after this. Bad for both of us.” He turned away and went back inside. Sid wanted to go after him but Zhenya’s back was rigid and seemed immovable.

Sid was stunned, it had happened so quickly and cleanly. Just as Zhenya had allowed Sid into his life, he had let him go. If he were a lesser man, he would slump into the bench and let himself sink into his confused misery. He gathered from some reserve of inner strength and stumbled his way back to the Canada House. Tavares was already in bed and Sid yearned for his own room. Sid felt like he had been ran over by a rollercoaster within the past 24 hours. He turned off the light and sagged into his bed, staring into the darkness.

“What the fuck,” he breathed out, and Tavares murmured questioningly from his bed. “It’s nothing,” Sid muttered. “Nothing.” He closed his eyes and tried to sleep.

* * *

When game time rolled around, Sid had already rapidly cycled through the five stages of grief and was back in the depths of stage two. Justified anger. He was never going to let anything get in the way of hockey, but if his checks were a little more vicious and his passes were a little sharper than usual, he could excuse himself. He threw himself back onto the bench after his shift and popped his mouthguard out, furiously chewing it. His line had been matched up against Eichels’ and the combination of Patches and Wheeler infuriated him.

Nate jostled him, panting with exertion, and said, “You ok? You seem a bit… Tense.”

Sid grabbed the iPad and jabbed at the screen. “I’m fine. What do you think about the play that just happened?” Nate eyed him but considering that this was the semifinal and they both were professionals, leaned in to help Sid examine some videos.

The universe seemed like it wanted to repeat history or it just wanted to be a dick to Sid because they couldn’t break the tie. They went into OT. Sid let his anger settle into his bones and turned to his teammates. “Don’t underestimate them, but we’ve done this before. We can do it again.”

It wasn’t his most inspiring speech, but they all tapped their sticks in agreement. He hopped over the boards with McDavid, Nate, and Keith. He looked at Nate, who nodded. They had each other’s backs. He skated up to take the face-off and trusted his body to do the rest. It took multiple shifts but in the last minute, Patrice passed to Marchand, who shoved in a wraparound goal. Sid and Nate grabbed each other and yelled. They went onto the ice with everyone else and the postgame passed in a blur.

Since they were all too tired and the gold medal game was in three days, teammates who wanted to celebrate met up in Sid’s room and collapsed onto various surfaces with alcohol. Sid had taken some shots himself and was squished on his bed between Nate and – he squinted to identify whose feet were next to his face – Seguin. He had no idea how they fit and his bed was obviously not meant to fit three large men, but he thought his heart would burst with affection and gratefulness. He would never take this, his team or winning, for granted.

He scowled, remembering how Zhenya had told him he didn’t care. Sid muzzily groped around and took his phone out of his pocket. He still didn’t understand Zhenya, but he needed to tell him he was wrong. The figure skating event hadn’t started yet so he had time.

His call went to voicemail, but that didn’t stop him. “Zhenya,” Sid started and closed his eyes to collect himself. “Zhenya, we won. I don’t care if you don’t care, but I _care_.” Nate groaned from the side, and Sid jabbed him to shut him up.

He repeated, “I _care_ so, good luck. Beat them all. Call me back or don’t.” Sid tried to hang up but missed the button, swore, and successfully hit it on his 3rd try. He threw his phone somewhere onto his bedside table and shoved at Nathan and Seguin until he could put his head on a pillow and not a limb. He was going to sleep, victorious, and in three days, they’d meet Russia in the gold medal round and they would end this.

Sid woke up feeling distinctly like a loser and remembered why at 30 years old, he didn’t do hangovers. Multiple alarms blared and groans and cries of, “Shut it off,” repeated until he crawled over Seguin to hit his own button. He swayed on his feet and staggered to the bathroom to take a piss and drink some water.

Sid ignored the pounding in his head and ache in his back to croak out, “C’mon guys, time for practice.” He went around and tugged and pushed at people until mostly everyone shuffled out of his room. Nate was last out, and he clapped Sid on the back, making them both wince.

“You feeling better?” he asked and Sid thought about it. He didn’t feel good exactly, but he had his team and he had hockey. Things would be fine. So he nodded and good-naturedly pushed Nate into the hall. Tavares had laid claim to the shower so he went around putting the room in some semblance of order. He picked up his phone to check his messages and froze. Sid forgot that he had called Zhenya. There was no response from him, but he checked the results of the figure skating event and covered his eyes while they loaded.

He peeked, unsure of what he would see, and started laughing. At the top, there was a picture of Zhenya standing at the center of the podium, grinning and holding up a gold medal. Sid’s chest panged because he looked good, red-cheeked and sweaty. He didn’t need Sid and while he resented him, just a little bit, he was proud. Sid was at least sure that in spite of his raging headache and stung pride, if Zhenya could pull it together, so could he.

Tavares exited the bathroom and motioned that Sid could use it. He put his phone down and decided then and there that he would put his grown-up suit on until the games were over. Then he could sulk with dignity in his own house.

* * *

Feeling a gold medal settle on his chest would never get old. In the back of his head, he wished he was still talking to Zhenya so that he could tease him about winning over Russia, but he shoved that urge down. For now, the taste of champagne on his lips and the clumsy embraces of his drunken teammates would be enough. They were bringing gold home again and as soon as the closing ceremony was over, they were going to get even more wasted. Seguin had already laid claim to a lounge in the Canada House and Sid was pretty sure he saw people sneaking in speakers and cases of alcohol.

He changed out of his sticky Team Canada uniform and into something more comfortable. He couldn’t help but grin stupidly as he put the medal back on. Everyone he passed was smiling and congratulating him and when he made his way into the lounge, the music stopped playing and people cheered.

“Our captain! Yeah boyyy!” Someone shook his shoulders, and he let them push him to the drinks table. He crushed a beer and feeling a little daring, did a tequila shot. People were still drinking but he could see them pairing off (in some cases, grouping off). He thought about doing the same because it was easy enough last time, but something held him back. He glared at his beer; it was probably Zhenya. Zhenya, with his nice, long legs and vicious competitive streak. Sid chugged his second beer and got a mixed drink, something sickly sweet and smelling faintly of paint fumes.

Before he could slam that back, Nate caught his hand. He looked distinctly sober and Sid wondered why he wasn’t downing alcohol like the rest of them. He jerked his thumb back and Sid followed the gesture.

“Your boy is here.”

Zhenya stood at the lounge entrance with a blank face. Sid had guessed he had come alone because the Russian team wasn’t too happy at the medal ceremony. They both just stared at each other until Nate nudged him.

“He’s not my boy. So what if he’s here?” Sid said irritably.

“You’re not going to go greet him? Offer him a drink at least?” Nate tugged the cup out of his hand to Sid’s protests.

“He said he didn’t want to talk to me.” If Sid sounded petulant, he could blame it on the beers and the shot. His buzz was fading, but he felt a little belligerent. He refused to put his foot in his mouth again and he wanted to celebrate without seeing the former object of his affections. He looked at Zhenya again and couldn’t help but admire how his ugly shirt stretched across his chest. Maybe not so former.

“He’s here now, so maybe he does want to talk.” Nate not-so-gently pushed Sid towards Zhenya and shooed him when he looked back. Zhenya hadn’t moved from the same spot so Sid stomped towards him and jerked his chin, commanding him to follow. Sid didn’t check to see if he was following and he walked to the elevator door, punching the button with perhaps more force than necessary. The ride up was silent, and Sid could feel his anger from the past week rise up again. He kept his face in check though, it was easy enough after years of controlling himself in front of the media. He opened up his room and checked to see if Tavares was there; it was empty.

Sid entered and before the door even closed, crossed his arms and bluntly asked Zhenya, “What do you want?”

Zhenya’s blank expression collapsed and his face scrunched up in a glare. He said nothing and Sid threw his hands up, exasperated.

“Well?”

Zhenya said defiantly, “I’m do what I have to to win.” He tilted his head back and drew himself to his full height, towering over Sid. It didn’t make him feel small. Sid had always been up against opponents bigger and meaner than him, but Zhenya wasn’t his enemy. Sid had grown to care for him, way too quickly and way more than he anticipated. Rather, his resentment drained away and he just felt tired.

Sid sat on his bed and looked at the ground as he spoke, “Zhenya, I’m not sure what you’re doing here or what you want from me. You said you didn’t want to talk.”

Zhenya grumbled and Sid refused to look at him, holding onto his last shred of pride. He at least wanted to hear him apologize.

Finally, he started to speak, haltingly at first then all in one rush, “I was too mad at myself. Not know how selfish I was being and what you meant.” Sid looked up and Zhenya’s face was steadily reddening, but he maintained eye contact. “Thank you for your message, even though you were drunk. Sorry I did not call back, was embarrassed. Sorry I was mad at all.”

His heart thumped with each “sorry” and Sid laughed incredulously, at Zhenya, at himself, and the ridiculous situation they were in. Zhenya mistook his laughter and humiliated, moved towards the door. Sid stood up to stop him and grabbed his hand.

He just looked at him for a moment, his dark eyes, chapped lips, and reddened cheeks, and fiercely ached from how proud he was of this stubborn asshole.

“Yeah, I get it, Zhenya. I do,” Sid said. He hesitated and then tangled their fingers together. Zhenya’s face, twisted up in a scowl, slowly eased into something less forbidding. He squeezed Sid’s hand back and looked contemplative. Sid, rather than letting go, moved closer. It was terrifying but he was drawn to Zhenya, like a flower to the sun, and he wanted more, if Zhenya would let him.

He slowly stretched up, giving Zhenya time to respond, to curl a hand around the nape of his neck. Zhenya’s eyes closed and the rigid lines of his body loosened up. He let Sid pull him down into a gentle embrace. For a second, he was still, unmoving. Then he let out a sigh and wrapped his arms around Sid, pressing his cheek into his hair. They breathed together, quietly in sync in their own world.

Eventually, Zhenya gripped Sid’s biceps to gently push him back. He leaned his forehead against Sid’s, as if to make up for separating, and smiled ruefully. His hangdog eyes were even more sorrowful, and he said, “I’m sorry, Sid. For everything.”

Sid huffed out a laugh and gently knocked his forehead against Zhenya’s. He kind of hated himself for it but he knew that even before Zhenya apologized, he had forgiven him. How could he not? They were unlike each other in many ways but in this, they were mirror images. Sid never regretted his career, but he had put a lot aside for victory. He could never hate Zhenya for doing the same.

“It’s ok,” he said, at first, but Zhenya still looked terribly sad and unsure, so he added, “We can talk about it more but, Zhenya, I understand. I really do. Please, don’t worry.”

Zhenya was silent, but he nodded and tugged Sid into his arms again. Sid rested his head on his chest and for the first time in days, let himself relax. They swayed in place, and he listened to Zhenya’s heartbeat. Then, his chest started to shake with laughter and Sid looked up with raised brows.

“Sorry, is just–” Zhenya laughed again and Sid tried to not assume that he was the butt of some joke.

“What?” he pinched Zhenya, and he squirmed away, delighted.

“When people say you can score outside competition, didn’t think they meant this.” Zhenya said, eyes glittering with amusement. Sid blushed and darted his eyes at the door and then his bed. He wet his lips, and Zhenya’s eyes followed the motion, suddenly looking very interested.

“Uh, well.” Sid scratched the side of his head and casually shrugged. “If you’re free, I’m free.” It was probably the worst line he’d ever laid on someone.

Zhenya didn’t seem all too bothered by it, though, because he snorted and bent his head to kiss Sid. They were both too eager and ended up knocking teeth, but after some trial and error, fell into a rhythm. Sid noted that Zhenya was very enthusiastic and his mouth was lush. He ran his fingers through the curls at the base of Zhenya’s neck. Zhenya made a soft noise and deepened the kiss. He broke away and ducked his head to press a kiss under Sid’s jaw, breathing heavily.

Zhenya’s eyes were dark, and his lip curled up slyly. “Have condoms? Lube?”

Sid nodded dumbly and replied, “Yeah, got them at the polyclinic. They’re in my bag.”

Zhenya pushed Sid to get them and said coyly, “Think you gonna get lucky?”

Sid frantically rummaged in his bag and found them. He shot back, “Well, I am now.” Zhenya rolled his eyes and pushed him onto his bed. He clambered on top of him and Sid pretended to be winded and curled up. Zhenya reproachfully bit his neck and Sid let out an undignified grunt. He spread out beneath Zhenya and let him suck a fat hickey in the same spot. Zhenya pulled back, examining the one he made, and unsatisfied, made a couple more on the other side.

Zhenya’s lips were wet and red. Sid stared at them while he asked, a bit thickly, “What do you want to do?”

Zhenya fiddled with the condom packets and tore one off. “Well first, should get undressed,” he said dryly. “Then you should fuck me. After, maybe can do more.” He pointedly got up and started stripping. Sid couldn’t move fast enough to take his own clothes off.

His underwear was barely off when Zhenya pushed him back on the bed. He bounced a little on the mattress and stared, speechless. Sid had definitely misjudged how much power Zhenya had over him. All of the muscles he had admired under Zhenya’s clothes were bare to his eye now and there was just so much of him. Zhenya was fucking fatal. Sid would be dead before this was over and he would be grateful for it.

He tried to help Zhenya finger himself, but he knocked Sid’s hand aside and straddled him, making him watch. He raised his hips up, planted one hand on Sid’s chest for balance, and used the other to finger himself. The way Zhenya dropped his head forward and hitched his breath while he opened himself up made Sid restless with desire. He took his sweet time and all Sid could do was rub his hands on Zhenya’s sharp hips, soft belly, and broad chest. When Sid brushed his nipples, he shuddered and said, “I’m done.”

Sid leaned back on his elbows as Zhenya rolled a condom on him. He stroked his dick once, to coat it with lube, and positioned himself. The head of Sid’s cock caught against the rim and Sid tried to not buck his hips up. Zhenya bit his lip and tried again. He sank down, trembling, and stopped halfway.

They both panted and then Zhenya moaned and pressed down. When his ass met Sid’s hips, he sat still but maddeningly clenched and unclenched. Sid squeezed his eyes shut and prayed for mercy. Zhenya was way too hot and tight inside and he didn’t want to embarrass himself.

Finally, Zhenya hummed and reached his arms back to prop them against Sid’s thighs. It was like the previous effort he exerted never happened because he playfully arched his back, gave an assessing bounce, and rose back up.

“Yes, this is good,” he said, smugly, and rolled his hips.

Sid pieced the few remaining brain cells he had left to grunt out, “Glad you approve.” Zhenya laughed and started a slow but grinding pace. Sid couldn’t stop touching him, mouthing his nipples and clutching at his ass. Zhenya’s body was hard in turns but soft in others and he wanted to find all the differences. He whimpered, and a heat grew deep in Sid’s belly.

Zhenya seemed to like it at first, but he batted Sid’s hands away and pinned him to the mattress. Sid blinked in surprise and Zhenya looked at him sternly.

“Stay still,” he commanded. “Can’t focus.”

Sid sputtered, “Isn’t the point to _not_ be able to focus?” Zhenya shushed him and wriggled around, like he was searching for the best position. Sid gripped the sheets and thumped his head back. Zhenya drew himself up, sticking his tongue out in concentration, and shoved down. He shuddered, as if he had found the spot he wanted, and worked his hips harder.

He was already pink with exertion, but the flush deepened and his dick curved up against his belly, dripping precome. Zhenya flexed his thighs and arched his back, rising up until only the tip of Sid’s dick was inside, and dropped back down. His mouth opened around a moan and Sid twitched his hips, helpless. The slick sound of his dick sliding in and Zhenya’s hip rolls made Sid hang his head back and gasp. Zhenya, with his confidence and lanky body, always overwhelmed him, but this was too much. He rode Sid hard until they were both groaning.

“Am close,” Zhenya eventually gasped and slumped over Sid, kissing him furiously. “Can touch now.” Sid whimpered and hauled Zhenya in. He brought his knees up and gripped Zhenya’s thigh, spreading it farther, and thrusted, hard. Hit with a sudden impulse, Sid groped his other hand back to feel his cock press inside Zhenya. He was so soft and wet with lube. Zhenya whined and grinded back.

“Can I?” Sid asked, breathless, and stroked his finger on Zhenya’s rim. He buried his face in Sid’s hair and nodded, whimpering. Sid steadily worked his finger in and did his best to continue thrusting. Zhenya’s hole clutched greedily around him and he grit his teeth. Zhenya, continuously moaning now, rocked back and reached down to stroke his cock. With a few pumps, he began to come, writhing and clamping down on Sid’s dick.

“Oh god, oh god,” he chanted and Sid, desperate to come, didn’t stop moving. He jerked his hips up into Zhenya and watched his eyelids flutter in pleasure. The sight made Sid clamp his eyes shut and his orgasm rushed over him, abrupt and almost painful. He gasped it out into Zhenya’s neck and weakly shoved his hips in for the last time.

Sid fell back into the bed. His limbs felt like noodles. Zhenya rested on him for a bit, but kept shifting, clearly uncomfortable. With a disgruntled huff, he gave up and finally eased off of Sid’s dick, making them both hiss. He then flopped down and curled up around Sid like an extremely satisfied cat. They lay together for a bit, but Sid knew if he didn’t get up, they would wake up stuck together and grossed out. He extricated himself from Zhenya, who whined, and got up to take the condom off and lob it into the trash can. He wobbled to the bathroom, wiped himself down, and brought back a warm washcloth.

Zhenya let him clean him, but soon made grabbing motions at Sid. He returned to bed, and Zhenya wrapped a long arm around him. He rubbed his face into Zhenya’s shoulder and smiled. They lay together in companionable silence. He was just drifting of when Zhenya lifted Sid’s arm up.

“What are you doing?” Sid squinted at him. Zhenya made no comment and forced him to high five him.

“Good job. Olympic gold in best sex,” he cackled, and Sid groaned and shoved him off the bed. Zhenya fell on the floor and continued to laugh while Sid huffily turned his back and covered himself in the blankets. He couldn’t believe what he put up with. Zhenya crawled back into bed, still chuckling to himself, and clung to Sid until he gave up and cocooned him in the blankets as well.

He kissed Sid sweetly on the cheek and crooned, “Thank you, Sid. Best ever.” Sid pretended to frown but when Zhenya poked at his cheek, he gave Zhenya a big, smacking kiss. He squawked and Sid, fed up, covered his mouth.

“Can we please sleep?” He pled. Zhenya said something, muffled against his palm, so he warily took his hand off to hear him. Rather than speaking more clearly, Zhenya squirmed under the blanket and mumbled. Sid craned to hear him. “Sorry, what?”

Zhenya popped his head out and said, louder, “I like you, Sid.” Sid reddened, his exhaustion faded away and his heart beat faster. Zhenya repeated, adamant, “I like you.”

Trying to hide how flustered he was, Sid joked, “Sex was that good?”

Zhenya huffed and knocked his shoulder. “Yes, this is good but I mean. Like talking with you and like seeing you. Want to try more with you. Do you want to?” Zhenya hastily clarified, “With me?”

Sid stayed quiet, figuring out how to respond. In the short time they shared, he never envisioned this. Sid had acted on impulse, compelled by Zhenya before he even really knew him. But the more and more Zhenya opened up to him, the more he wanted to see. He looked at Zhenya. He was still bundled up in a blanket and his long face poked out. His hair was a bird’s nest, and his cheeks were blotchy. His eyes were hopeful and Sid – well, Sid could never resist him. He still had no idea how they would do this, but he wanted to try together.

He kissed Zhenya and said, “Yes, I want to try with you.” Zhenya smiled and enveloped Sid in his arms. They traded kisses until Zhenya, breath slowing, fell asleep. Sid tried to keep his eyes open for as long as he could, but the day caught up to him. The last thing he saw before he slid into a dreamless sleep was Zhenya’s face, soft and content.

* * *

 

_10 years later_

Sid was brutally awakened by a heavy weight landing on his stomach. He grunted and flailed in surprise. He blearily opened his eyes to see his daughter squatting over him.

“Good morning!” She bawled out and Sid winced. He checked the bed and looked at the time. Zhenya’s side was empty, and it was 7 o’clock. Therefore, too early for Sid.

“Dasha, do you know what time it is?” He lifted her up and deposited her next to him. She was fully dressed in her winter gear, gloves and all.

“Yes, it’s time to do drills. Papa told me to get you,” she explained and tugged the blankets off of Sid.

“Oh! I’m sorry, your papa was supposed to wake me up.” Sid sat up and watched her carefully clamber off the bed.

“I know. That’s why he told me to get you,” she said, with all the pointed honesty only a child could have. She was already out in the hallway when she called back, “Hurry up, Dad!”

Sid gave himself one minute to remember that he loved his family and that he actually wanted to do this. Then with a great heave, he got up into the cold morning and started getting ready.

He could hear Dasha yelling from the backyard and Zhenya calling back encouragements. He hurriedly got dressed and made his way downstairs. The wall of their stairway was covered in photos and the last one before the bottom step was of him and Zhenya, standing around the Cup with Dasha, who was barely a year old, inside of it. He patted it and continued to the backyard.

His stick and skates were already next to the door and he scooped them up. They had a pond at the back of the house and every winter, he made sure that the ice was perfect for pond hockey and skating. There were a couple benches surrounding it, and Zhenya was seated on one, watching Dasha do some stickhandling drills. He had two steaming cups and offered one to Sid.

Sid kissed him and between sips of coffee, prepared just the way he liked it, groused, “Why didn’t you wake me up?”

Zhenya gently knocked his shoulder into Sid and said, “You look so cute. Wanted to let you sleep for just a bit longer.” Sid scoffed, but slumped into him to watch Dasha. Her nose was a little red and her brow was furrowed in concentration as she carefully moved the puck. She looked up and Sid waved back, smiling like a fool.

“C’mon!” She insisted and banged her stick on the ice. Zhenya started to laugh and Sid bent to quickly lace up his skates.

Before he could get up, Zhenya pressed a hand between his shoulder blades and leaned in with a wicked glint in his eye. “Wanna race across the pond?”

Sid got up and grinned back. “Loser has to do laundry for the next two weeks.”

Zhenya snorted, “Couldn’t think of anything sexier?” but he was already charging towards the ice.

“No fair!” Sid yelled and swiftly followed. Even after retiring, Zhenya still moved with grace and speed. Sid found himself admiring him and dug in a little harder to compensate. Zhenya looked back, cursed, and sped up. Sid couldn’t catch up and Dasha giggled when Zhenya hit the pond’s end and flexed.

“We have a winner!” Zhenya whooped and looped around to hoist Dasha up and cheer. Sid scowled but couldn’t hold it up for long against the sound of Dasha’s laughter. He reluctantly accepted defeat with an exaggerated sigh and stood back to watch them.

Dasha was getting bigger, but that didn’t stop either Sid or Zhenya from spoiling her, particularly Zhenya. Carefully avoiding her skates, he held her in his arms and lazily skated back. Dasha gestured for Zhenya to bend his head down, and she whispered in his ear. Whatever she said made him throw his head back and laugh uproariously. They had been together for years, but the sight still made Sid’s breath catch. He was as beautiful as ever.

Dasha eventually wriggled out of his arms to continue her drills and Zhenya slid next to Sid.

“What’d she say?” Sid asked, and Zhenya slung an arm around him.

“Said, ‘Dad’s getting better at losing now.’” Zhenya snickered, and Sid hung his head to hide his smile.

“Oh, it’s like that, eh?”

Zhenya pretended to fawn over him. “Oh, my sweet baby. Not happy? Need me to kiss it better?” He obnoxiously caressed his hair and smooched him. Sid jerked his face away, laughing, and Zhenya cradled his face.

“You happy?” Zhenya teased.

Sid looked over at Dasha. Her helmet was askew, but she was hard at work, scooting around the cones. Zhenya followed his gaze and his eyes softened. He let go of Sid’s face but swayed a bit closer and they stood side by side, just watching her again. Sid could never have enough moments like this, together with Zhenya.

Heart full, Sid smiled. “Yeah, I am.”


End file.
